


Normaller Than Normal

by belmanoir



Category: Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's stranger than strange is when a bunch of shit happens and Bob suddenly turns corporeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normaller Than Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for eledhwenlin's 24-hr porn tag game. Prompt: "stranger than strange."

When you introduce yourself as "Harry Dresden, wizard. I'm in the book," well, it's pretty much a given that your life is strange. And Harry's is. Storefront, ghost-in-a-skull best friend, mythical baddies trying to kill him at every turn. But it's been that way for so long it feels kind of normal.

What's stranger than strange is when a bunch of shit happens and Bob suddenly turns corporeal. They're cooking dinner together and Bob can actually take the damn garlic bread out of the oven (although he doesn't), he can sample the sauce and say, "Oh, so _that's_ what tomatoes taste like," he can brush Harry's arm reaching for a fork and instead of that creepy tingling it's just the solid bump of another human being.

Still sends shocks up his arm though. 

Harry can't get used to it. It's great, sure, but he's sure the novelty is never going to wear off. He's never going to stop forgetting and asking Bob to do ghost stuff, or letting doors slam in Bob's face.

Then, when Bob's been corporeal for three days, Harry is standing in his kitchen staring down at the lump of charcoal that was supposed to be garlic bread and trying to explain that garlic bread is _good_ , which Bob would _know_ if he would just take it out of the damn oven, and Bob breaks off mid-laugh and kisses him. Just yanks them together by Harry's ratty t-shirt and goes at it, and fuck, Harry thought he was the only one who'd been thinking about this obsessively for years.

But apparently he's not, because they've only been kissing, hot and desperate, for a few minutes--and he can feel Bob, Bob is radiating heat, Bob's lips are firm under his. He can _smell_ Bob, smell his own shampoo in Bob's hair for Pete's sake. Bob uses shampoo now. He can taste the tomato sauce in Bob's mouth, and it's never, ever going to stop being stranger than wonderful, he could do this forever but it's only been a few minutes and Bob is getting on his knees.

"Hey," Harry says, trying to tug Bob back up.

"I've been waiting to do this again for nine hundred years," Bob says, undoing Harry's button fly with rather less than his usual grace.

"Need a hand there?"

Bob glares. "Well, pardon me if I've only been dealing with buttons for three days. When I was alive we pulled our clothes over our heads like civilized people." He gives up in frustration and waves his hand. Harry's buttons vanish into thin air, and normally Harry would be _pissed_ , because these are his favorite jeans, but he's too busy staring at his dick in Bob's hand. He's too busy feeling the slide of Bob's rings on his skin. He's too busy trying really, really hard not to come all over Bob's hand _right now_.

"I'm not--" he rasps. He swallows and then tries again. "I'm not going to last very long."

"That's all right," Bob says. "Neither am I. After all, it's been nine hundred years."

And then Bob shuts his eyes and swallows him down, and Harry can't really form words anymore. He watches Bob, and this is weird as all fuck, because this is _Bob_ , and yeah he's thought about exactly this a million times but now it's _happening_ , Bob's got a mouth now, a mouth he can use for something other than mocking Harry, and it's hot and wet and Bob _wants this too_ , he's sucking like he wants to take the skin off. One of his hands is gripping Harry's hip so hard it hurts and the other is pressing against the front of Bob's pants. Just pressing, not moving because Bob is _concentrating_. And when Bob's hips jerk and he makes a long, humming moan around Harry's cock, that's it. It's been maybe a minute, and Harry is coming so hard the psychic shockwaves are probably going all the way to Wrigley Field. Maybe the Cubs will win this week for a change.

And all of that's stranger than strange, but somehow...Bob's hand resting lightly on Harry's hip, the warm, affectionate press of it--that doesn't feel strange at all. It feels normal. It feels _normaller_ than normal, right in a bone-deep way that has nothing to do with how other people live. He presses his hand over Bob's, keeps it there, and Bob brushes his thumb over Harry's wrist. Yeah, this is the way things are supposed to be.


End file.
